


Little Lion Man

by rightonthelimit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Oral, Sexual Content, detective!Tom, psycho!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>27 year old detective Tom Riddle had been chasing Harry Potter for years now. But sometimes, things are not what they seem at all…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this fanart; http://flayu.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d39qle0 :) For Jacceh!

**A/N: Please do not repost, recreate or translate.**

**Little Lion Man**

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

Tom Riddle awoke with a strong, sluggish feeling in his entire body. His eyes were heavier with sleep than when he usually woke and his heartbeat strangely matched that beeping sound somewhere to his left.

There was something in his wrist, and when his weary eyes grew accustomed to the bright light coming from the ceiling he realized that there was a tube connected to his slender arm. It was long and a clear liquid went through it, and as his eyes followed the tube he realized it was connected to an IV drip. He couldn't read what was written on the bag, though, but he reckoned that he was apparently still alive so it couldn't be toxic.

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

His pale lips parted and he grunted, throat feeling dry. His mouth seemed incapable of producing saliva at the moment. He closed his eyes momentarily, the light burning and too bright, and his eyebrows knitted together. Besides that steady beeping noise next to him – Heart monitor. Why was he connected to a heart monitor? – there was also a somewhat unnerving  _tik tok tik tok tik tok_ of a clock he hadn't located just yet and had no interest in locating in the near future.  
  
The room was completely silent beside that and it was like breathing too loud would disturb something, somehow.

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

The bed he was resting upon was soft, the sheets feeling smooth against his bare feet and his pillow smelt vaguely of his own shampoo.

Tom realized that this silence was most likely organized for himself given he was the only one in the room. He had been resting here for how long he did not know, and when he opened his eyes again he avoided looking straight into the lamps that hung right above his head in favor for looking at the dull grey walls, noting the utter lack of decoration. There was a small wooden table next to his side but there were no flowers – his sheets were blue. When he looked down his arms, which were resting loosely at his sides, he noticed that the shirt he was wearing was black but he couldn't recall putting on a black dress shirt or even owning one at that.

Where ever he was right now, it wasn't a hospital.

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

Tom tried to move his body almost experimentally as if he feared he was missing a limb somehow, but even if he felt everything was still there, he found great difficulty in just moving at that. His eyes went back to the IV drip and he could only conclude that either whatever it was that went through his veins kept him from being capable of moving too much, or he had been asleep for so long his muscles needed time to kick into work again.

Where was he?

Tom closed his eyes again, trying his best to remember something,  _anything_. What was the last thing he remembered doing? He remembered getting ready for work – shaving and feeling irritated when the battery of his phone had been dead. He remembered getting out of his bathroom and walking into his bedroom, and then –  
  
Then what?

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

Tom didn't know. It wasn't pain; it couldn't have been an accident as his bedroom was completely harmless and Tom was not a clumsy person.  
  
But if he couldn't remember anything after walking into his bedroom… it could either mean he had suffered head trauma on his way to work and something was wrong with his long term memory or something had attacked him in his bedroom. He  _had_ fallen asleep on his couch that night, so someone having snuck in was plausible…

His fingertips moved, and he tried to dig them into the sheets. He couldn't squeeze anything just yet – his hand lacked the strength to do so.

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

_Beep_

_Tik_

_Beep_

_Tok_

He huffed in frustration. What to do? He wasn't the kind of person to just sit around and wait for things to happen - whoever had brought him here must've had ill intentions. There was no way...  
  
When Tom opened his eyes again he gasped rather uncharacteristically because hands were suddenly in his face and curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him up in a sitting position. All Tom could do was angle his head up but not entirely, his arms not strong enough to lean back on them just yet.

_Beepbeepbeep_

_Tik_

_Beepbeepbeep_

_Tok_

A weight settled itself on his lap and Tom stared up at the boy with vivid green eyes on top of him, who was staring at him with a smirk on his face. For a moment the boy seemed to study Tom, looking at him as though he was an otherworldly creature and he brushed the fallen strands of hair off Tom's forehead. Some would've called the gesture tender, almost shy.  
  
To Tom it was threatening and calculating, as if the boy was daring him to protest.

'Good morning Riddle,' the boy all but purred as he took in Tom's shock, 'do you remember me?'

Tom's lips moved, but no sound came out. His throat just felt too sore and his voice seemed to have left him – how long had he been here? The once so very loud noise of the heart monitor seemed to fade completely into the background, as did the ticking of the clock and now he was just hyperaware of the young man's entire being on top of him. The boy's face was attractive and looked deceivingly innocent with youth, his eyebrows arched and his lips looking soft and a pale shade of pink. His hair was a black mess and his glasses had a round, metal frame and –

' _You_ ,' Tom rasped rather stupidly, his eyes still wide and staring at the pink, lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead. The boy on top of him cooed and brushed his knuckles over the side of Tom's face, still straddling him but slowly lowering him down on the pillow again.

'Thirsty?' the boy asked, and Tom just stared at him in complete shock, not replying to him at all. The boy didn't seem to mind and he leaned over to the wooden table, rummaging through a drawer to conjure a bottle of water. It was like he was purposefully leaning his face so close overTom's – close enough to kiss Tom if he wanted to.

But he didn't.

He twisted the cap off and brought it to Tom's lips, cradling the back of Tom's neck and forcing him to tilt his head backwards. Water gently poured into Tom's mouth and Tom could just swallow, his eyes still boring into the boy. It was cold despite it not having stood in a refrigerator and Tom could only suppose that it hadn't been in the drawer for very long, and it soothed his sore throat almost treacherously because he did not  _want_ to be feeling anything even remotively positive at the hands of this person.

This was Harry Potter. He was the son of Prime Minister James Potter and was someone who had gone to the same private school Tom had gone to when he had been a teenager.

Harry pulled the bottle away again and dried Tom's lips with his thumb, sucking the digit into his mouth and taking his glasses off. He didn't need them anyway.

Tom had obsessed over this boy ever since high school. There had always been something wrong about him and combined with Tom's interest and  _need_ to know everything, he had decided to become a private detective against his father's wishes to take over the company when he was old enough.

Tom had been focusing on solely Harry again since two years ago, when strange things had started pointing into Harry's direction. Tom now knew that Harry's eyes weren't damaged, that Harry had had his tonsils taken out when he had turned 11 years old, that Harry had the strange habit of always eating something sweet (often chocolate) after eating potato chips…  
  
And that Harry was a murderer.

Tom just never had found  _enough_  evidence to prove it. Harry had always been extremely careful, and it was like he always left a trail of small, insignificant things behind especially for Tom. They had been dancing around each other for years now, and after they had met for the first time in years again not too long ago at a dinner party…

' _Nice to see you,' Harry stammered, awkwardly holding out his hand for Tom to shake it while his free hand pushed his glasses up with his pinky, 'I've heard you became a private detective. Very – uh, impressive.'_

 _Tom's eyes lingered on Harry's face, studying just how_ well  _he was acting to be flustered, before he took Harry's hand and shook it. Harry's hand felt warm in his grip._  
  
'Nice to see you, indeed,' Tom purred. He could see his own reflection in Harry's glasses and realized he had a hungry look in his eyes. The hint of a smirk played at Harry's lips, but it was gone before Tom could've questioned it.

And Tom had known from that moment just how fake the image Harry presented the world of himself was for sure. It had haunted him, the entire encounter had. Never had Tom been this impressed by another person before – never had he felt so  _challenged_ before. Like Harry was trying to lure him into making a fool out of himself publicly. Tom just felt that sense of danger around the other male and it had been highly intoxicating, but most of all, he had felt an amazing need to  _defeat_ Harry.

So far, no luck.

'I can see you're just dying to ask me some questions,' Harry purred and Tom scowled. His fingers bent at his will, and if he focused hard enough he could fist his sheets.

'I'm actually dying to ask you to get off my legs, you're cutting off circulation,' Tom sneered at him. Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't expected him to talk to him like that, but then they narrowed again.

Harry smirked, and it was wonderfully horrible.

'No worries, I reckon there will be enough blood rushing south soon enough,' Harry breathed. His fingers brushed over Tom's cheek and Tom bared his teeth at him in a snarl, but all it did was amuse Harry further.

Tom Riddle  _hated_ this person. Harry had been slipping through his fingers for years, and now he had actually had the audacity to –  _oh_. His situation suddenly dawned in on him. Harry – or someone Harry had hired – had broken into his house and knocked him out and  _abducted_ Tom. And now Harry was just fucking around with him.

Definitely the drugs in his system that were making his mind work so slowly. There couldn't be any other explanation for this hazy mess his head was now and he refused to acknowledge that it had something to do with this man's presence.

'You would know all about that, wouldn't you, you whor-' the slap came so hard and unexpected that Tom's head snapped to the side with a deafening crack, heat rushing to his cheek and pain soon afterwards.

He wasn't afraid of Harry even if he knew that so many people had died by Harry's hands – that that same dainty hand that had slapped him had carved things into dead bodies before. All he felt was disgust and irritation towards  _himself_  for having been caught. For allowing Harry to have a victory, no matter how small.

Harry huffed and his breath fanned over Tom's face. He smelt of sweets – Tom knew that Harry was addicted to sweets.

Harry always left red sweets behind on all of his victims. Tom had never found out why. At first he had thought it to be symbolic, standing for romance but there had never been traces of the victims having had sex right before their deaths. There had never been a connection between the victims and Harry himself, not directly. It was something that, along with a thousand other things about Harry, drove Tom insane. He hated it. Hated not being capable of figuring him out.

No one had even thought Harry to be a possible suspect for these murders. Because  _who_ would think sweet, innocent Harry Potter, Harry Potter with the poor eye sight and Harry Potter who was the  _son_ of James Potter could also be Harry Potter the  _murderer_? The Harry the outside world saw was easily flustered, clumsy, good in sports and intelligent, but not book smart. No one saw Harry's cunning side. No one knew of Harry's thirst for blood.

No one except for Tom.

'Why must you make things so difficult for me, Thomas?' Harry asked wistfully as if patronizing Tom. Tom turned his head back to him and glared at him, but he didn't say anything else. He doubted Harry had any weapons on him and Tom was slowly regaining control over his body again – he could now easily fist the sheets between his hands and he could wriggle his toes. In about two minutes or so he'd be capable of overpowering Harry. 'You're honestly thinking you can get away, don't you?'

'Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to play the victim so you can feel a bit better about yourself before I destroy every chance of you being the public's sweetheart ever again?'

Harry laughed, and his fingers played with Tom's hair a bit.

'Tom, Tom, Tom…' Harry gripped Tom's wrists and pinned them above Tom's head, his other hand slipping under the sheets. His fingers danced over his sides. 'You are  _so_  mistaken.'

'I beg your pardon?' Tom asked, keeping still. Harry chuckled and actually  _nuzzled_ his cheek, purring and humming and –  _he was hard_. Harry was hard and he was rocking down on Tom, and Tom hissed at him and willed himself to stay soft but his cock just had other plans. Even if he knew in his mind that Harry had killed people before, it didn't mean his cock did. For all it knew was that Harry was a warm body and a pretty face. Like so many others Tom had fucked before.

How treacherous and sickly poetic.

'Hmm, I've been preparing myself so well for you,' Harry hummed, his lips ghosting over Tom's, 'been touching myself at the mere  _thought_  of you. I left those sweets behind for you. Did you know?'

Tom felt sickened. He hadn't. There he had been – looking for deeper meanings in things that had really just been so  _simple minded_. But what was the worst? The worst was that Tom wasn't even surprised.

'Why?' he asked nonetheless, deciding to indulge him.

'Because, I just can't  _wait_ to get you inside of me. Oh, but I just knew that even though I'm a big boy you'd be too big for me to take without any preparation. You  _do_ know what they say about men with large hands after all…' Harry's hands slid over Tom's, as if proving his point. Tom didn't have to look up to know that there was a significant difference between their hands and he tried to focus on how Harry's answer wasn't relevant to his question at all, and how he always spoke in riddles.

Had Tom been even remotively romantic, he would've mused with the thought that his last name would fit Harry.

'They need large gloves,' Tom said simply, sarcastically. The entire situation was just so twisted and really genuinely not okay with him. Harry laughed again.

'I  _do_  love your wit,' Harry whispered. His lips were now brushing over Tom's. 'Do you see that heart monitor there, Tom dearest?' Tom tore his eyes off Harry's and glanced at the heart monitor automatically, as if expecting it to have changed. It hadn't. There were still electrodes underneath Tom's shirt, sticking to his bare chest connected to it, and it was still plugged into the wall. Though… where did that thick wire go to? Tom had no particular knowledge of medical machines, but… Harry smirked at him, undoubtedly aware of his train of thought..

'It's connected to a bomb. As soon as that thing flatlines – in other words, as soon as you disconnect from it …  _boom_.'

Tom's eyes widened and Harry just kept smirking at him.

No way.

No. He couldn't have been outsmarted. He couldn't have been  _tricked_ like this. Tom stared at him as if trying to find any signs for Harry having lied, but…

'You can't  _leave_. You'll kill both of us if you do leave – without my permission, that is.'

'You're full of  _shit_ ,' Tom sneered nonetheless, feeling humiliated and angry. This wasn't how things had been supposed to go, not between them. Tom had been supposed to reveal Harry as a murderer and he should've landed him in jail – Harry never should've caught him! He never should've even been one tiny step in front of Tom! 'What makes you think I won't put you on that goddamn monitor and leave?' Harry laughed.

'Good luck doing that in less than one minute. Good luck getting past the guards, as well.'

'What the hell do you  _want_ from me anyway?' Tom snapped, 'Where am I?'

'Kitty got claws,' Harry observed. Tom tugged his hands away from Harry's grip and Harry let him, and that only enraged Tom further. To know that he could overpower Harry but only because Harry  _wanted_ him to. He was vaguely aware of the heart monitor.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep._

His heart was already speeding up and Harry was completely aware of it as well.

'I think it should be obvious what I want, mister detective,' Harry breathed. His hands trailed down Tom's wrists, down his arms and Tom let him, not willing to take a risk. The point with Harry was that everything was a trap. Everything made sense, if it was seen through Harry's eyes and done by Harry's hands. Harry rolled his hips down on Tom's and Tom bit at his lips when he dared to kiss him, but all that resulted into was the murderer laughing again. 'And I think it should be all too obvious that you just simply know  _too much_.'

Tom hated Harry's laugh, no matter how it made his eyes light up.

'So you're basically going to rape and kill me,' Tom said. His voice trembled with rage and his mouth felt dry, too dry, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Harry hummed and nosed his way down Tom's face.

'You just don't  _get_ it, do you? Always using that brilliant, handsome head of yours and trying to see things that are just not  _there_.'

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Harry just made a hushing sound and placed his fingertip on his lips. The tall male struggled to keep from biting the digit.

'I'm not going to kill nor rape you, Thomas,' Harry continued. 'I'm giving you the option to commit suicide and kill  _me_ in the process. But you see, I simply cannot rape-' thrust, 'the,' a nip at Tom's ear, 'willing.'

And the thing that annoyed Tom most was that he  _did_ feel attracted to Harry Potter. It was what had drawn him in at first, and his initial attraction toward Harry Potter was exactly what had made him study him and realize the small things that just didn't make sense about him.

Harry was kissing at his jaw and Tom was overwhelmed by the smell of him and the feel of him.

The point was that Harry looked like one of those persons that Tom could've easily picked up at random bars. He sometimes had – pretending they were Harry, ofcourse. It had always been Harry in the back of his mind. Tom just wanted Harry so desperately, and he could take him, but only because Harry had given himself to him. Not because he actually had overpowered Harry.

And that was the danger of Harry Potter. He was the first person Tom hadn't been capable of outsmarting, overpowering just yet. The fact that their ages differed for 2 years did nothing to make that better.

'What are you doing?' Tom demanded. Harry cooed and pressed a chaste kiss against the corner of Tom's mouth, smiling.

'Touching you,' Harry said simply. His nimble fingers slid underneath Tom's shirt, his touch warm and firm. Tom scowled at him and gripped his wrist.

'I barely know you, you can't honestly expect me to just  _fuck you_ after you broke into my house and-'

'You  _do_ know me, just like I know you, Tom Riddle,' Harry argued. Tom stared at him and Harry hummed, pressing himself against Tom's body and nuzzling Tom's collarbone simply because he couldn't reach any higher. His hands started fiddling with Tom's buttons again and Tom sat still for a moment. '27 years old, son of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Senior, with a strange fascination for reptiles… yes, I know everything about you,  _Thomas_.'

'You need to stop,' Tom demanded, even if he had desired Harry from the start. Harry looked at him with those brilliant green eyes and licked his pale lips.

'How I've  _longed_ for you, Thomas,' Harry breathed. He slid Tom's shirt off his shoulders and Tom pushed at his hands again, but Harry completely ignored him. It was like he was appreciating Tom for being there, but not fully acknowledging that he could actually  _think_ for himself.

Like he was some kind of toy Harry could fuck around with.

'Every guy I met… every person I fucked, and  _killed_ … it had always been you in the back of my mind.' And he said it so carelessly. The first time they had met Tom had instantly known that Harry was bad news. Harry had been so charming it had been painful and he had been clumsy and easily flustered just like he had always shown himself to be when he was out in public, and never had he actually said out loud what they had both known. But now he had, and it made the whole situation just so much more real. 'In a way I feel sorry for ever allowing anyone to touch me like that, I have wanted to be _yours_ for so long…'

Tom hated how tempting that sounded. All of his life he had been raised to be a good person. To be well-mannered, help people who were weaker than him, use his talents for the greater good. To be a good man. Tom had always known he had had potential to be wrong – to be evil. He had never actually lived up to that but now that Harry was just offering it to him like this, looking and just  _being_ so seductive…

'…just like I feel sorry for the whore that  _you_ had in your bed a week ago.' Tom's eyes turned upwards, toward Harry. Harry just stared him in the eye and hummed. A week.

It should probably be bad that Tom was more surprised at the fact that he had been asleep for four days than Harry having killed Bellatrix, shouldn't it? Not that Bellatrix had meant much to Tom – he actually barely knew anything more than her first name – but still…

Harry was corrupting his mind.

'Would you be mad at me, if I had killed her?' Harry whispered, as if reading Tom's mind. But he hadn't. He had just guessed.

And he had guessed right.

Tom said nothing in return and Harry started kissing his throat again, his hands sliding underneath the sheets. To be truthful, hearing Harry had gotten rid of her was actually a relief. She  _had_ been getting clingy.

Dear God, why was Tom disregarding the fact that Harry had just  _killed_ someone close to Tom this easily? What the hell was wrong with him? Harry gripped Tom's cock before Tom could fully comprehend he had been intending on doing so and Tom's nails dug into Harry's shoulders. He hissed and Harry moaned, his hand already speeding up and his movements too eager. Tom didn't have to be told to know that Harry had longed for him. The very evidence of it was right here, on top of him, rocking into him.

'What are you going to do to me once you're done?' Tom asked. He was breathless from the amount of kisses Harry pressed against his hungry mouth and Harry didn't reply at first.

'Say my name,' Harry demanded instead, 'don't say anything but my name.  _Please_.'

'Harry,' he instantly said, deciding that if he indulged Harry he'd get his answer. Harry was fairly easy to please. Harry moaned on top of him again, and his hand squeezed his cock tightly.

'I'm  _never_ going to be done with you,' Harry breathed, 'never going to let you slip away, never going to stop wanting you in me so bad it just hurts… it's been you, always you.'

'For how long?' Tom asked. Had Harry known all along that Tom had been chasing him down?

'Three years.' And that just felt like a stab to Tom's pride. Harry had been researching him longer than Tom had researching him and – wow. He actually always  _was_ one step ahead of Tom. 'You're one of my favorite obsessions, Thomas… did you like the show I was putting up for you?'

Tom's eyes stared into him wearily. 'What show?' He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips when Harry kissed him briefly before he pulled the sheets off Tom's body. The cool air hit the head of his cock and he grunted, his hips stuttering upwards almost instinctively, his body just reeling with desire and want and the need to just  _fuck_  Harry into the ground. And he wanted to be a good person and try to shove him off, honestly. He wanted to make his father proud for once of his life by actually doing the right thing – it should be one of the first things you learned in life, after all. That fucking with murderers was not a good idea was something your parents should tell you the moment you could comprehend what fucking even  _was_.

No?

Oh.

Well, if they hadn't then Tom supposed it would be a good excuse for him to keep from pushing Harry off when he hungrily sucked the head of Tom's cock into his mouth. A long, drawn out groan escaped his mouth and he instantly forced Harry's head down further, feeling him suck so fucking eagerly it just couldn't be real.

If Tom had been any less of the man he was right now, he would've believed that this was a very vivid dream and that this was all in his head. Because in a way this couldn't be reality, could it? To have someone getting so visibly off on getting  _you_ off? Harry pushed Tom's hands away and licked the base of Tom's cock, his teeth lightly grazing the head before sinking down and swallowing around him. A string of mixtured spit and precome connected Harry's mouth to Tom's manhood and it was fucking _beautiful_  and Harry started jerking Tom off again, his spit making his movements slick.

'Don't play stupid,' Harry said. Tom's hands buried themselves into Harry's hair and he growled, for a moment genuinely not caring what Harry was talking about. He pushed Harry's head down on his manhood again and basked in the slurping noises Harry made, sounding so dirty and delicious and fucking amazing. The head of his cock hit the back of Harry's throat every time Harry took him in whole.

Everything was a show to Harry Potter. From those stupid fucking sweets to the mindless patterns carved into his victims -

It hit him.

It hadn't just been the sweets that had been left behind for Tom.

It had been the victims. Purely to keep him entertained. Because he had known that Tom had grown bored with all the other things he had been working on. He had given Tom something to do. And that had been all there had been to it.

'You're crazy,' Tom breathed but even so he couldn't help but just stare at Harry, watch as his lips were wrapped tightly around his manhood, 'you're absolutely batshit  _crazy_. They should –  _fuck_ \- lock you up and never let you go again.'

Harry just hummed and that sent vibrations through him, and he sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed out. He seemed quite enthusiastic while doing so and truly it would've been a compliment to have someone just worshipping his cock like this, but given Harry was actually a mentally ill murdering lunatic… Harry fondled his balls and pulled away for a breath of air, kissing the tip of Tom's manhood.

'I'm not crazy,' Harry argued, 'I'm  _fun_. I'm interesting. I'm beautiful – I'm amazing at sucking cock.'

He sunk down on Tom's cock as if daring him to disagree and Tom just fucked his mouth, hands gripping Harry's hair so tightly it couldn't  _not_ hurt his scalp, but Harry didn't seem to mind. He just seemed to be interested in engulfing Tom, sucking him into the velvety heat that was his mouth.

And Tom just let him.

Tom has had blowjobs given to him by far more skilled people, to be honest. Harry's teeth sometimes grazed over his sensitive skin and he could imagine that some men wouldn't enjoy that quite as much as Tom did, Harry didn't use his hands to the fullest and fully abandoned Tom's balls while sucking but that was okay with the way Tom's manhood just  _felt_ in Harry's mouth. Like the orifice was created solely for sheeting Tom inside of it.

None of them had been this enthusiastic – this eager to please him.

None of them had been dangerous like Harry.

Harry's teeth grazed lightly over his manhood as he bobbed his head up and down again, allowing Tom to fuck his face and use his mouth like it was just worthless and easily disposed of. It made it easier for Tom to slip into the fantasy in which Harry was as innocent as he pretended to be.

And, in return, it made it easier for Tom to believe that this wasn't wrong to want.

Harry pulled away with a wet popping noise, licking the head of Tom's cock almost apologetically before sitting up again. He kept his eyes trained on Tom all time as he zipped the zipper of his hoodie down.

'You're just as shy as a whore,' Tom said, not even to insult him but simply because he had never actually  _seen_ Harry like this. He had known Harry had his ruthless side but he had never experienced him any different but as the flustered boy he pretended to be. Harry licked his lips hungrily and lifted his t shirt above his head, his pale chest bared to Tom's eyes and practically begging to be marked up. His nipples were hard and his stomach was flat, his hipbones well-defined and in need of being bruised by Tom's hands.

'Watch me ride you like a whore,' Harry said in return. Tom's dark eyes trailed over his chest and then back up to him.

If it hadn't been for that dark part inside of Tom that had always longed for danger and Harry Potter, he would've at least attempted to desire not to just want Harry this much. But why should he bother? If he'd run they'd both die, he didn't know what else Harry had up his sleeve, they both wanted it…

Harry stepped off him and took his pants off. His boxershorts followed and Harry didn't even do as much as blink when he was finally naked. Like it was completely normal for him to be bared to Tom like this. Maybe he thought it was, Tom wouldn't be surprised at this point.

'Don't worry,' Harry said as he sauntered over to Tom's bed again. His cock bounced up and down with every step he took and he wrapped a hand around it, purring at the feel of it. He sat down on top of Tom again and fisted Tom's spit slick cock with his other hand. 'I'll be  _very_ gentle… when I need to be.'

He leaned down and kissed Tom again, and this time it was more of a fight than a confirmation. There was nothing slow about Harry's lips and Tom did not feel the need to be gentle at all – his short nails dug into Harry's neck when he pulled him closer, their teeth clashed and their tongues fought. Eventually Harry gave into him and he mewed into his mouth, rocking his cock against Tom's in the most delicious way.

His mouth tasted of Tom and it should probably sicken him, but it didn't. Not in the very least. It made him feel like he had finally managed to leave  _some_ kind of mark on Harry, even if it was temporal.

Tom could feel Harry's breaths short and fast on his lips. He knew Harry could tell Tom already wanted to grab him and take him, but with his body in this state? All he could manage was a drawn out moan that vibrated through his throat and seemed to bounce off the walls.

'Amazing, isn't it?' Harry whispered. He let go of Tom's shaft and squeezed his balls instead, rolling them between his fingers before sucking on Tom's bottom lip and keeping him from replying. Harry's mouth was wet and Tom could just tell his lips would glisten from their mixed saliva when Harry was finally done kissing him, but he found he did not care at all. It was dirty and raw, oh yes, but so was Harry.

And that was why all of this was so fucking glorious.

Harry squeezed Tom's cock again and Tom bit Harry's top lip, hearing him moan and feeling him biting Tom's bottom lip in return. Tom didn't mind fighting Harry's lips. Fighting Harry had always been bittersweet, after all.

Tom didn't need to open his eyes to know that Harry had his closed blissfully, but he momentarily did so anyways. He was close enough to count Harry's lashes were he ever interested in such thing, but he wasn't. All he could think of was how strange it actually was that the skin of Harry's lids was paper thin and so very fragile, and that he was actually going to have sex with a mass murderer in a bedroom with dull, grey walls and that he was going to enjoy it too.

Said mass murderer mewed.

Harry knew what Tom was thinking, Tom knew. But he also knew that this game they were playing… Harry was giving Tom reason to get back at him. To get even.

He wanted Tom to go to  _him,_  next time.

' _Harry_ ,' Tom hissed. His nails dug into Harry's ass and he spread his cheeks apart, and Harry just moaned.

'Oh God I can't believe I'm finally going to have you inside of me,' Harry whimpered, rocking himself against Tom's leg.  _Like a puppy_ , Tom realized, and Tom watched him for a moment as he rubbed himself against him. 'Wanted it for so long, you and your ridiculously attractive face, need your cock in me, want you to  _fuck_ me already…'

Tom shoved his fingers inside of Harry without having anything on them to ease their way, but to Tom's surprise Harry actually  _was_ already slick inside. His fingers met little resistance and Harry released a throaty moan.

'You little bitch,' Tom said, partially in shock and partially in arousal, and Harry just fucked himself on his fingers, biting at his neck, his hand quickly finding Tom's cock and fisting him. It was like they were trying to challenge one another, see who would break first, but in the end it was Harry who just couldn't take the teasing anymore. He hadn't been lying when he had said he wanted Tom.

He whimpered and rocked his hips up desperately, his cock leaving a shiny, wet trail on his own stomach.

'Lazy fucking bastard,' Harry whined, referring to the way Tom wasn't bending him over just yet. Tom growled at him and shoved his fingers deeper inside, ruthlessly digging his nails into his inner walls. Harry cried out in surprise.

'Crazy whore,' Tom snapped at him. That seemed to do it for Harry. He shoved Tom's shoulders roughly into the bed and he slammed himself down on Tom's cock, a cry of surprise escaping his lips when Tom finally slid in him while Tom's nails dug into his ass, spreading his cheeks. His head fell back onto the pillow and he groaned, feeling Harry's inner walls clench down on him, wet and hot and goddamn  _tight_ , his lewd body almost eager to please.

' _Move_ ,' Tom sneered at him. Harry groaned and kissed him roughly on the lips, having some trouble finding a pace before he was finally downright bouncing on Tom's cock, his body steadily rising and falling in his lap and his eyes shut in bliss.

Fuck.

Just, fuck.

Harry grabbed the headboard and the bed practically moved along with him, slamming into the wall a couple of times while Harry obscenely moaned and fucked himself on Tom like Tom was some kind of toy to him. He wouldn't be so surprised if he was, but either way, he wasn't one to complain.

He gripped Harry's hips and started fucking upwards, hitting him in all the right spots while Harry gasped and arched his back.

'Fuck me harder!' Harry demanded and Tom groaned, his body now completely working again. He flipped Harry over without much thought and drove into him from behind, gripping his hips with bruising force and his own slammed into Harry's ass with each thrust. It seemed his body was in his own control again.

'You like that, you fucking cunt?' Tom sneered at him, gripping Harry's hair and forcing his head backwards, 'Like getting fucked by people you barely know?'

'Fuck you, I know you,' Harry spat, and he moaned when Tom thrust harder into him, his body jarred every time their bodies joined. Tom could feel it all – feel his cock drag against Harry's insides, feel his sloppy hole clenching almost desperately around him… Harry had the audacity to release a sarcastic laugh. 'Don't pretend you didn't think about this too,' he said, breathless. Tom grunted and continued fucking into him. His balls smacked into the back of Harry's as well.

He hated this person. Hated the things Harry could do to him and hated how fucking  _right_ it felt to be fucking his dirty whore ass like this.

'Bet you spread your legs like this for other men as well, didn't you? Begged for anyone to fuck that loose hole of yours, to use your ass just because you're not worthy of anything else but receiving cock,' Tom sneered. He shoved Harry's shoulders into the pillow without waiting for a reply and Harry just kept on moaning, his hands reaching behind and spreading his cheeks, wanting Tom to  _see_ how good he was using his hole. How good Harry was taking his cock. 'Lousy cockwarmer.'

Harry tilted his hips up and his toes were curling in the sheets, his mouth just spewing muffled moans. Tom didn't care. Months,  _years_  of frustration just left him with this, and he slapped Harry's ass. Harry yelped in surprise but kept it raised anyways, and Tom kept slapping it, enjoying how Harry's hole quivered and tightened around him when he did so.

'Touch yourself,' he demanded, and Harry's hand instantly went to his cock and the fact that Harry had been waiting for  _permission_ just sent illicit thrills down Tom's spine.

This person underneath him had killed people before, had ruthlessly slaughtered them, yet here he was, ass raised up high, face pressed into the pillow, completely  _dependent_ and _submissive_ to Tom.

'Fuck you,' Harry murmured, but Tom caught it anyways. He leaned his body over Harry's, covering him completely. He bit at his ear and relinquished in the yelp he received at that, his hips still rolling into Harry's.

'Fuck me?' he asked. Harry nodded and Tom dragged his nails down Harry's sides, just because he could, because he wanted to  _see_ he could have an impact on this bastard. ' _Fuck_   _me_?' he asked again. Harry nodded again and Tom was just done with him. He sat up and started fucking him so hard he barely had a pace. Harry was practically screaming underneath him but Tom didn't care – he started chasing after his own orgasm by just using him.

When he came, he filled Harry up completely and bit him so hard in the shoulder he drew blood. Harry cried out but he was only vaguely aware of it and instead felt one of the most intense orgasms he has ever had washing over him, making his thighs quiver and his nails dig painfully hard – enough for his own fingers to hurt – into Harry's hips.

When he was done and could think properly again, Harry was a quivering mess underneath him. At first he thought Harry was crying, but as soon as he pulled out of him and turned him around Harry was laughing.

He was laughing, and his face was red, and his brow was sweaty and the bastard looked  _satisfied._ Tom didn't need to look to know Harry had come as well.

'What the fuck are you laughing at?' Tom said because he felt cheated somehow. The look on Harry's face promised no good at all – he was supposed to look tired now, or in the very least not this  _evil_.

Tom's chest was still heaving down and he was getting vaguely aware of the _beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep_ next to him, almost mocking him. He hated how  _alive_ he felt in this moment, because it had been Harry to make him feel this way.

'Such lovely marks you've left behind on me,' Harry murmured finally, breathlessly, his hands running down his own body, from his lips to his neck, to his collarbone, to his hips… he looked absolutely wrecked. He was covered in bite marks, red trails Tom's short nails had left behind and his shoulder was tinted red from where Tom had broken the pale skin with his teeth.

And it was almost shocking, and downright degrading, how Harry was still so very in control of the situation. He stared down at him and Harry kept smirking. 'You're mine, Tom Riddle.'

'No,' Tom instantly said. His heart was still beating fast, but he realized it was in anger. Tom was becoming angry again and he was losing his composure and he just  _knew_ that it was all because of this bastard.

'I'm gonna turn that heart monitor off safely so we can both go home. But  _yes_. You're so very mine.' Harry's voice was still hoarse from the noises he had uttered and Tom realized that despite it all, he had been staring at Harry's mouth, watching it forming the words. When it dawned in on him what he had said, Tom blinked at him rather uncharacteristically in confusion. It went in against everything that Harry had been trying to achieve today, wasn't it? 'And if you even  _think_ about telling anyone, Tom, I'll go to the police.'

He couldn't help it, he started laughing. Harry hadn't expected him to and his face fell. 'Really? And what will you tell them – that you kidnapped me, had sex with me, own  _bombs_ and have threatened to kill me? That will work in your advantage,' he said, his sides aching and his cheeks straining.

'No, I'm going to tell them that you raped me.' Tom abruptly started laughing while an icy feeling settled itself in the pit of his stomach. Harry stared at him with a serious look in his eyes. 'I have the bruises – I have your come inside of me. Don't think I lack the evidence, Tom Riddle. Besides – who would believe you when there's sweet, innocent Harry Potter, son of the prime minister?'

And Tom Riddle just completely lacked words at that.

He had underestimated him. Again. He felt so unlike himself right now – he was torn in between strangling Harry with his bare hands, silently applauding for managing to just fucking _trick_ him like that or feeling mortified at how disturbed this person was.

So inwardly, he did all three of them.

'Next time, I won't go through such lengths to get to you, Thomas. You'll be coming to  _me_.'

And Tom just didn't say anything in return. He stared when Harry climbed out of bed, his eyes focussing on his pale body even against his own wishes, trailing down to stare at that trickle of come that dripped down Harry's thigh and feeling betrayal and, much to hs own shock, attraction at the mere sight of it.

'What's in the IV?' Tom asked, out of everything he could ask. This situation was so unfamiliar and his cock throbbed in the remembrance of the tight grip Harry's ass had had on him.

'Stuff that kept you from dehydrating,' Harry said. Tom was unsure if he should be touched that Harry went through such lengths to take care of him or mortified that he had really planned all of this. The seduction, the sex. Tom felt nothing short of a pawn. He didn't say a word when Harry released him and when he was standing outside again he realized he was shaking in rage and humiliation. He felt tricked and cheated and  _used_ , like he had been a vessel in Harry's greater plan to get to him. Which didn't make any sense.

But it was his reality.

He acknowledged the thought of Harry most likely looking at him from behind the safety of his apartment building and he stepped into the car Harry had told him to wait for, but only because it was the only way for him to get back home. He didn't even know where he was and everything felt like a horrible dream. The sluggish feeling in his body made him shiver and his mouth still tasted of Harry. The driver said nothing to him and Tom didn't want him to either. He didn't really know what his feelings were doing right now.

He had finally been allowed close to the real Harry and his body was still thrumming in sheer adrenaline.

When he got home he took a long bath and vowed to himself that he wanted nothing to do with Harry Potter anymore. That he was a bad influence and would  _ruin_ him. In the end he had broken the promise to himself and it happened exactly one month later. In a way, there was a twisted romance about this all; Harry doing his best to keep Tom entertained. Tom, who kept coming back because he was drawn into Harry's danger.

But that was all there was to it when it came down to those two, wasn't it? A twisted, horrible, passionate romance that was bound to fall apart some day.

But not any time soon. And not until the both of them were broken completely.

 


End file.
